


give

by peterspajamas



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Episode: s07e17 The Born-Again Identity, Gen, Hallucination Lucifer (Supernatural) | Hallucifer, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Kind Castiel (Supernatural), Pre-Slash, Stressed Dean Winchester, could be gen, he's just so kind i'm going to lose it....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29503539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterspajamas/pseuds/peterspajamas
Summary: Castiel's memories are recovered earlier, so when Sam is sent to the hospital in season 7 episode 17, he follows them.The pull of self sacrifice is stronger here, because the bond is stronger.And Castiel knows how self sacrifice is a powerful force- he wants to use it. For Sam, and for Dean.or: in THIS au Castiel is only more in love with Dean.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 16
Kudos: 35





	give

**Author's Note:**

> follow my [ tumblr](https://doublestuffedimpala.tumblr.com/) I take prompts if you're willing, or if you have a concept!! currently I'm plotting a different WIP, plus writing a few sam-centric ones (I also have a sam blog called arsonsamwinchester lmao) about like religious trauma and shit. idk. right now i'm also working on one where cas thinks he's "secretly" confessing his love to dean in Enochian but sam understands all of it. 
> 
> i'd like to make it clear that they are in love in this one: the ending is bittersweet because it's some sort of coda to an AU that's just in my head. they send love letters after castiel stays there but i didn't include that. why? because fuck me, that's why (i don't know) 
> 
> anyway they're definitely in love.
> 
> literally though the mental health’s been shit 😭😭 pray for me if you’re religious. idk what this is except that i listened to poetry by dead men 30 times today??? wrote 15k but scrapped all of it, this is what’s left

Castiel has spent hours on this chair. He thinks he could probably build it from memory alone. The curved legs, with chipped black paint that has an unpleasant texture. The flat cushions that dig into his back, spongy. Also unpleasant. 

Sam’s not here to sit by Dean’s bed, though. Someone has to do it. 

Sam is in the psych ward of the hospital Dean had been in, Castiel remembers. No one has checked in on him. His heart clenches with identical loneliness.

  
  
Castiel still does not move from where he’s sitting. Paranoia grows by the day. And it has been 7 days. One long week of stolen peace and a sponge-like armchair he has found on the side of the road. It fits perfectly into the space between motel bed and wall. The window, letting dim light in to reflect on Dean’s slumbering face, looks like a prison cell’s. 

This could very well _be_ a prison cell, Castiel reflects. Who is he to know reality? No better than Sam, in his own prison for hallucinations. Castiel has spent millenia wiping his personality away. He and Sam do have a lot in common.

Still, he doesn’t get up from the bed. Is this jealous? Greedy? Yes, it is, it is exceptionally jealous to want to be alone in a room with Dean Winchester. It is greedy to take these moments and feast on them. Castiel is no better than any other angel that has betrayed their kind. He squeezes his eyes shut. 

Slowly, almost against his will- though Castiel’s will is great, and mighty, and strong- his legs tuck up against his chest. He wraps his arms around them. 

Castiel is alone.

* * *

“Whas’ goin’ on?” Dean mumbles. 

Castiel’s eyes open. “Dean?” he asks quickly. He stands abruptly, leaning in close. One of his hands clamps down on the arm on the other side of the bed as he looks Dean over. “Are you awake?” 

“Go away.” 

“I healed you. You should have woken up last week. When I healed you.” 

Dean makes a little noise in the back of his throat. “Well, I didn’t. Maybe I needed sleep. What are you doing here, anyway?” Castiel leans back, patting Dean’s chest. He lets his hand rest there. It is a comfort to feel his human charge’s breathing. Dean does not always breathe like this. Soft, and open. 

In and out. 

“The hospital would not release you unless you were under my care.” 

Dean’s eyes open a little wider. “I was in the hospital?” 

Castiel tilts his head to the side. “Dean, you and Sam were in a horrible accident. Do you remember…” His voice fades out, and he looks away. As dusk enters the room. The window lets it in, and Castiel enjoys it. He has not known… sunsets like this. It is beautiful.

“I remember, all right,” he grumbles. 

Castiel lets out a breath of relief. A very human action. He doesn’t truly need air. Nor does he need to leave scattered signs of _I am like you_ as he goes. He enjoys it, however. Castiel likes the feeling of giving into humanity. “I’m glad.” 

The hand still on Dean’s chest raises, fussing with a lock of hair. He looks perturbed, eyebrow cocking. “What’re you doing?” Dean grunts. 

“You look very sick,” Castiel explains. “I’m trying to fix it.” 

Dean’s eyes fall shut. His eyelashes sweep on his cheek. Castiel wants to kiss each eyelid. Let the eyelashes tickle _his_ cheek, because they are that close. He wants Dean’s freckles to make imprints on his cheeks, matching freckle marks. They are beautiful freckles. He wants to kiss them, too. “Well, heal me. If you wanna fix it so badly,” he mumbles. 

Castiel gives into the urge, his control collapsing as both of his hands rise to cup Dean’s cheeks, one thumb touching the freckles. He concentrates hard on making him better, on letting the pain and hurt wash out of Dean. It isn’t very hard. He has spent a week at Dean’s bedside. 

Awake for hours. Just waiting. Castiel is a patient being, and he wants only the best for his charge, and that is something easy to admit. It is easy to admit how simple healing Dean is. It doesn’t make him feel discomfited, the way it does when he contemplates his own relief and contentment at seeing Dean happy. Castiel does not like feeling selfish. “Am I all better?” 

“Yes. Fully healed.” Dean shoots him a winning smile and Castiel’s face breaks into a matching one, all too tender and quite indulgent. 

“Nice one. Get your jacket, we’re going to see Sam.” Castiel nods, guilt beating in his chest. “Where is he? You healed him, too, right?” 

Castiel shakes his head mutely. “I did not.” 

“ _What_?” They stare at each other. Dean is turning rapidly pale. “Oh my God, Cas, is he alone in some hospital bed somewhere?” 

“Sam did not suffer physical injuries. Beyond a bruise, I believe, on his chest.” Dean rests his forearm on the wall. 

“Oh my fucking God. You scared me,” he says, muffled. “Fuck.” 

“I didn’t realize,” Castiel whispers. 

Dean pauses, hand raising to scratch at his forehead roughly. “It’s fine,” he says pointedly. “Help me out of bed. Wait- I can do it myself.” 

Castiel’s face pinches but he hurries to get the door. This room is all he’s seen for the past week. For some reason, he feels like this is the last time he’ll be in here. Claustrophobic, and poor quality, most likely unsanitary. It doesn’t smell like death, at the very least. “Do you need assistance with anything?” he asks, voice level. 

Castiel does not… _feel_ level. He feels like his knees will buckle at any moment. Is that normal? He wants to smother himself in Dean. He has been so worried. Too worried. “Get a fuckin’ toothbrush, my mouth’s going to eat itself. And where are my shoes?” 

“There is a toothbrush by the sink in the bathroom.” Castiel does not brush his teeth. His grace takes care of things like that. “Fresh.” 

Dean nods curtly, brushing past him. Castiel’s eyes follow him. He leans down, picking up a pen. He remembers this. They had given him this pen for the hospital discharge form. Castiel does not appreciate bureaucracy. He does not like hospitals. 

“I’m- almost,” Dean starts, mouth muffled by the brush, “Almost done.” 

“I will get in the car,” Castiel says, rubbing the back of his neck in a moment of apparent shyness. Hmm, he needs to curb these urges. He looks human. 

“You do that.” 

“I will meet you there. Be safe, Dean.” He heads for the front door, hand hesitating over the doorknob when Dean yells one last aside. 

“Yeah, I won’t fall down the stairs,” he snorts. “ _Be safe_.” 

The moniker is implied, of “silly angel” or something similar. Castiel has missed these. He holds his breath, reaching up to touch his face. He is awfully unkempt. A little girl crosses the street with her mom, jumping and leaping. Very exuberant. Her mother is holding her hand. “Be safe,” he murmurs to them, too.  
  


At times, without Dean, life feels slow motion. Castiel could sit at the window for 800 years, unchanging. It had made the week at his bedside hellish. The thought alone is enough to make him fold his hands together, close and wringing. It had felt so long. The days were the same; and so was Castiel, with them. The weather changed at times. It did not matter. Not in the slightest. 

“You ready to go? Where did you leave him?” Castiel has been expecting more anger from Dean. He doesn’t take imagined slights against Sam lightly. 

“The psychiatric ward of Northern Indiana State Hospital.” Dean freezes.

“What?” he asks, slightly choked. “You put him in a psych ward?” 

“He’s not sleeping, Dean. He has constant hallucinations.” Castiel has seen them fleetingly, yet even he knows this. 

Sam prays to Castiel often. Though he doesn’t know the murky depths of Sam’s mind, he does know what he is told from these alone. And the prayers stay unanswered. Full of tripwires and hooks. Sam is a more complicated man than Dean, than even Castiel. At his heart, he seems to crave peace. But it doesn’t pierce the unending chaos he is entangled in, it does not... Sam doesn’t chase his goals. Castiel thinks that he isn’t like most humans. It’s more of a long shot with him. Dean might get a normal life. 

Sam will never be scrubbed clean of his pain. He will never have that blank, serene peace. “Okay,” Dean mutters. “Let’s break him out, then.” 

Castiel feels his heart- or whatever an angel has that is akin to one- crumple. “Dean.” Dean glances over, a little wild. The speedometer is climbing. “I don’t think that is advisable.”

“Well, can you heal him?” 

Castiel’s mouth opens. “I don’t think so.” 

Dean bangs on the wheel. They both jump. “Dammit, what are you good for?” 

Face pinching, Castiel stares him down. “I can leave the car, if that’s what you would like,” he says, chest rumbling with the words.

  
  
“No.” Dean takes in a stuttered breath. Castiel wants to reach over and gather him up, let him lay and stare at the ceiling for 10 minutes, held secure and firm in Castiel’s arms. Hold him like that. He doesn’t entertain the desire for even a fraction of a second. “No, don’t leave, I’m just.” 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Castiel knows what he means. 

_Scared_. 

* * *

Sam is sitting on his bed when they enter the hallway to his room. Castiel can hear his breath from here, from through the closed door. 

He will inhale, sucking in a breath, and the exhale comes in fragments, broken glass air shattering on the floor. He sounds like he’s trying to pretend to be calm. Sam is full of terror; Castiel knows it from here. “This the right room?” Dean whispers. 

“Yes.” Castiel opens the door, and Sam’s head jumps, wary. “Cas?” 

“Sam, how are you feeling?” he asks immediately. Sam blinks at them.

“Oh. Uh.” He gets distracted, staring at a wall. “I’m… I’m here.” 

Castiel frowns deeply, sitting on the bed beside him. “Sam. I’m here now. I’m so sorry that I was unable to be… available to you previously.” 

Sam shakes his head, head twitching for too long. His shoulders look like a jerking, seizing serpent. His neck is its tongue, flicking back and forth. Guilt rises in Castiel. He has _left_ Sam to do this alone. “Yeah, man, apparently the accident was pretty bad.” 

Castiel has not yet told Dean the details of the accident. He cocks his head, confused. He’s lying through his teeth. Does he think Sam will find it a comfort to be given excuses? “Sam, how are you feeling?” 

Castiel sees, visibly, that he is jittery. But Sam admits something different, he says, “I’m tired.” 

His hand raises up to his eye and he rubs at it, closing them. He flinches violently. Dean makes a noise of surprise. “Hey, man, if you need to get some rest, do it, alright? Don’t overstrain yourself.” 

Sam’s eyes close. “I can’t rest. Did you talk to the doctor? I can’t sleep anymore. He won’t let me.” 

Castiel stares at him. “I am sorry for leaving so long,” he says, trying to be gentle. He’s struggling with the words. Should the apology be longer? He doesn’t know…. Castiel and Sam have blanket forgiveness in common. Castiel hopes he will be forgiven. 

“Do you really think I noticed?” 

Dean moves a little closer, every step stiff. “What d’you mean by that?” he asks, eyebrows creasing. 

Sam shrugs listlessly. “I mean that I didn’t notice that you were gone. I’m not in a rational mood, Dean, why do you think I’m in a psych ward? This isn’t like the- visions, or the blood, I’m not going to go Carrie on you, I’m just sick. They think I’m going to die if I don't sleep soon.” 

The room is very quiet after that. 

* * *

“Cas,” Dean says, pulling him aside when Sam begins to jerk and screams, briefly, scaring them. It’s best if he’s alone, when he in this kind of state. “This isn’t something you can handle, right? Help with?” 

Castiel’s mouth opens. “I don’t think so.”

“So what are we going to do?” 

Dean’s hand is resting on Castiel’s arm, and his head is close together with Castiel’s. They are standing in a space meant for one, watching through the same window as Sam sits there. It is November, Castiel is glad they’re inside. Once, Dean had told him that during November and the other winter nights, he hoped for cases in California, because they spent so much time outside or in a motel. They got sick. 

Castiel’s heart pangs, and he reaches out, hugging Dean tightly. He is stiff at first, a rock, and Castiel’s arms begin to let go. One of Dean’s arms reaches around, though. He hugs Castiel back, clutching him. “What’s this about?” he asks, voice rough. 

Castiel knows Dean has a demon knife on him, a shotgun strapped to the inside of his jacket, and Castiel has his own weapon with easy access. Dean makes a little noise, guiding Castiel’s head onto his shoulder. This is not the behavior of a hunter. Or an angel. 

He feels wild. He feels human. Dean’s breath is warm in him. Castiel’s arm curls around his waist. “I don’t know what to do,” Castiel confesses. 

“Me neither.” The strain on him is apparent. Castiel’s feet are catching on the treacherous rocks of longing. He hates this; this, which is feeding him touch, a quiet whisper of _care_ , things that would be mocked in the garrison. 

Dean’s clutching fingers finally ease. He does not let go. 

“Are you crying?” Castiel asks him, feeling wetness in his hair.

“Fuck no.” 

“Dean…” 

“Cas, just leave it. I don’t know what I’m doing. I want it to be over. This isn’t- we have ooze coming after us, I don’t have the time to cry on your shoulder,” he says bitingly. 

Castiel’s hand lands on his arm, holding fast. “I care just as much as you do,” he says softly. 

Dean’s mouth quirks up. “Oh really? Prove it to me.” 

  
Castiel squints at him. “I’ll let him watch his favorite movie.” Dean is always eager to watch Ghostbusters, Castiel does not have the upper hand, but he sees the shakes ease, sees Dean’s eyes soften. 

“That doesn’t mean shit,” he scoffs, entering the room. Both of them are getting scared to sit on the bed with him, scared to veer too closely into _Sam’s_ reality, knowing they could become the enemy. “Star Wars or Ghostbusters?” 

“I’m tired, you choose,” he forces out. Dean chooses neither, he takes off his shoes and sits cross legged on the floor, reading a pulp romance novel he has while Castiel stands guard at the door.

* * *

Castiel tries, repeatedly, to heal Sam. It doesn’t succeed. Instead, they set up shifts, trying to get him into a restful state of being. Dean tries to sing some songs to him. 

Dean also still needs to sleep. So Castiel sits with them, next to Dean and with Sam. “He asleep?” Sam asks, folding his hands in his lap and squeezing. 

“Yes.” Castiel doesn’t even need to look over to confirm, he can sense it. Dean is softer when he is sleeping. His face melts. “Do you want me to read a book to you? Put on some music?” 

Sam glances at the silent, fourth person in the room, invisible. He pushes down on his hand, shaking it when it goes white from the pressure. Castiel is scared of Lucifer. Is always scared of archangels. They are scary things, he reflects. He doesn’t envy Sam. “Sure,” he answers eventually. 

Castiel spends most nights with him. They’re waiting for his heart to fail, or something similar. He hasn’t ever felt such terrible waiting, and it makes him physically sick to imagine it, like someone has taken his grace. Sam cries with Castiel in the room, but never Dean. He waits until Dean is sleeping. The secret of it, the silent tears soaking the pillow- sometimes Castiel walks over to gently rub his back, it helps- is a piece of cotton in his mouth, making it dry and full. 

“What book? I think they delivered some new ones to the room,” Castiel says, looking at the spines. 

“Any.” The syllable is soft. Near silent. 

“Persuasion. Jane Austen.” Castiel’s head tilts. “I can read this one.” 

The book is a love story, he learns as he reads. For 5 hours, he narrates the novel, absorbed in the paragraphs. Dean snorts when he wakes up and looks at the title. 

“Persuasion? Really?” He yawns. 

“I enjoy it. I find Jane Austen’s stories compelling. They are fiction, correct?” 

“Yeah, of course. You think this is real life?” 

Castiel pauses. “Dean, I think you forget that I have watched great loves unfold. I have helped put them together. I watched for centuries as people met like this and their kindness and love for each other bore great fruit. Do you think of me as a simpleton?” 

Dean’s eyes are wide. 

“I bet you have some great stories, then, Cas,” Sam laughs gratingly, roughly. He takes in a breath; shakes as it leaves his lungs. 

“I do. I can finish this one, first?” 

Sam nods, eyes flitting away. Castiel has been watching him. He hasn’t paid attention since chapter 3. “I will continue,” he says, resting his closed fist on Dean’s thigh. Physical touch tends to silence him. Or soften him? Either way, Castiel enjoys it. He is like Sam, appreciating it, especially when it is not obvious. 

“ _I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope.”_

“Okay, come on.” 

Castiel glances up to him, an amused smile on his face. “Do you not find this romantic?” 

Sam glances at them. “Dean’s a romantic, you know.” 

“No, I’m not,” Dean counters. 

It seems like Sam is gathering up the raggedy bits of his strength to participate. Castiel desperately wants to save him, or heal him. “I think you are. I think if you got a love letter, you’d be so flattered you’d fall in love right back. If you were- you’re Bridget Jones, if someone told you they liked you for who you are, you’d lose it.” Sam pauses. “You _would_.” 

“I wouldn’t.” 

Castiel has read the rest of the page by now. And he thinks- for him- he thinks that there is not much to love about an angel but the words, printed out perfectly, if they were said to him… 

  
_Oh, Castiel,_ he feels the long forgotten words of a fallen angel whisper to him, _that is not the kind of love we share_. Still, all the same. Were Castiel to get a love letter, he would melt. Fall fully. 

* * *

Over the next 3 hours, Sam’s condition worsens. It is not easy to make something like this worse. 

It still does get worse. Dean’s pacing like a caged animal. Castiel finishes Persuasion and puts on a movie. He doesn’t watch it, instead watches Sam, watches him lose the little color he has left. It all drains ou of him so quickly. The life leaves him in bits and pieces, now, until Castiel feels animalistic with the sensation of fear. It is a peeling wound on his heart, to see Sam die. 

“Cas?” he asks. Dean glances up, outside the room, and heads for the door. But Sam is talking to Castiel. “Move.” 

Castiel steps to the side, studying Sam. “Is he touching me?” 

Sam’s face crumples. “Don’t-” He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Sammy, you need a coffee?” 

Both of them stare at Dean. “I don’t think he needs _more_ energy,” Castiel says quietly. 

“Fuck.” Dean stares blankly at them. “Goddammit, never mind. It’s a bad idea. Nothing’s helping, but fuck, I don’t want to hurt it more, either.” Dean is saying… damage control. Castiel is good at damage control. In an ugly way. 

Castiel has forever been under a spell. Often, he would find his memory blackened, crossed out at the whims of an angel with seniority over him. He let the Leviathans out, and was spelled again. Amnesia. Again. He’s learned to live with it (thought it might not be living) and he’s learned to live around it. Sometimes, that is about rolling over and taking it. Life does not beat at him the same way it does at a human. 

For humans, it’s quick, fleeting moments. For Castiel, it has been a lifetime of rolling over, onto his belly. He _knows_ powerlessness, so intimately that he begins to welcome it. He sees that in Sam, who is curled on his side, watching the television. His death will be catastrophic. Castiel thinks it may be the final blow to him, the one that will break him. For Dean, as well. There is no controlling the damage. 

Sam’s death is a flaming knife held to their throats, it will only leave burnt husks behind. 

Castiel is going to fix it. “Cas? What are you doing?” 

“Standing, Dean,” he says acerbically, peering closer at Sam. “I am… I think I may try something.” 

When he glances back, Dean’s face is soft. Castiel stares at him for a moment too long; looks back at Sam. “I am going to take his…. I am going to fix it. I can fix this mistake,” he says, with no confidence in himself. 

“Hey, won’t that hurt you?”  
  


Sam is shaking his head, too, making protests. Dean’s voice reigns in his brain, a tyrant. He values Dean’s opinion too much. Castiel leans in, gentle. “Sam, I don’t know if this will hurt,” he whispers. 

“I think it’s gonna hurt you more than me,” Sam whispers, shaking his head quickly. 

“You said there was nothing you could do,” Dean says aloud. “You can’t… fix the wall.” 

“I don’t intend to fix it.” Castiel worries his lip between his teeth. “It might hurt,” he says again. 

Sam shrugs listlessly. He’s lost reality again. Castiel doesn’t want to miss him. “I’m going to see if _I_ can take it. I’ve lived a very long time, remember.” 

Castiel smiles bitterly. Dean hovers behind him. It makes him guilty, to think of these lies he is telling, of how he is pretending to know what is best again. His eyes slip shut, but he doesn’t begin. Should he tell Dean the truth, that he will just take on the trauma, _splat_ on his own brain, turning it to wreckage? His mind is still blackout poetry, a few pieces of soft and fond and _good_ memories, most of them with Sam and Dean. The rest is erased or a mistake or him doing others’ bidding. 

Castiel makes his choice, and filtered by the warm, encouraging voice of Dean, and the fear of becoming a plaything for Lucifer’s evil, the way Sam is now, he buckles. His body tingles with the sensation of remembered pain. The coals are shoveled out of Sam’s chest like a furnace, into Castiel’s vessel. 

It is more capable. That’s all he can ask. 

* * *

He’s awake. Shaken-rattled-dusty, scared, but he doesn’t know what he is scared of. 

Castiel’s hand shakes. Is shaking. He squints at it, making it still. There. Better. 

“Sorry,” he says needlessly. There’s no one else in the room. No one to hear it. 

He expected them to leave him, he thinks. He expected this. 

Lucifer’s hand rests on his shoulder. Castiel wishes he were human- he wishes he could cry. 

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i wrote this. i spent all day writing it and i am unsatisfied with the ending. just. something's wrong with it but i don't know what and I want to post it.
> 
> concrit is welcome! also comment to make my day <3 <3


End file.
